Spiked Rod

Spiked Rod

I needed someone to listen to me,
To take care of me.
Especially at home.
I needed this from my father the most.

No one has ever experienced what my father put me through.
It’s such a difficult thing to live through,
When you’re a kid in first grade,
And your father takes you home from school,
And beats you with a spiked rod,
Nails penetrating your entire body.
It was a long walk home,
And I was being beaten up continuously,
blood gushing out of the wounds.
All of this for something I didn’t do.
Something that wasn’t my fault.

All that happened was that I couldn’t answer a question,
Because I didn’t know the answer to it.
They told me to stand outside for a bit,
And then come back in.
It was my bad luck,
That my father came and found me standing outside.
“Why are you standing outside?”
He made a big deal out of it with the class teacher.
He grabbed me,
And starting beating the life out of me,
In front of my friends and everyone.
This all happened in public.

He beat me with the rod as we walked.
I could see people trying to approach him,
To make him stop.
Everyone kept yelling,
“Have mercy!
He’s just a kid!”
In the end, he walked away and left me alone.

When I got home,
I expected there to be some sort of reaction to what happened.
But there was absolutely no reaction.
Except for my mother and grandfather.
Both of them stood by my father’s side.
I couldn’t get out of bed for three months.
I couldn’t even walk,
Because of what he did to me.

It’s only after my parents separated,
That I started to appreciate him.
Even though I never felt like he was my father.
I couldn’t even talk to him.
I’ve always tried to talk to someone,
To express myself,
Especially to my family at home,
But there was no one to listen.
It was only my friend who listened to me.

I found what I was missing at home,
When I came to the institution here.
I stayed for twelve years.
It felt like home.
It’s where my needs were met,
And where I found someone to listen to me,
Without waiting for something in return.

When I visit my father now,
I expect that, maybe after all these years,
He’ll try to take care of me.
But, unfortunately,
The way he treats me is even worse than it used to be.
“Why are you here?
I don’t want to see you.”
I have to care for him,
Even if that’s what he does.
I have to visit him,
Even if he’s never treated me well.

When my friends talk about their fathers,
And say things like,
“My father took me here and there.”
I reminisce about my father.
Yes, he didn’t take me anywhere,
But his presence in my life was enough.

Warning The stories on our story archive could contain potentially sensitive and/or triggering material. If a story causes you discomfort or pain, please remember to breathe and check in with yourself before continuing or stop reading completely if necessary.